


Frosty Mornings and Belated Realizations

by 500shadesofblue



Category: Video Blogging & YouTube RPF
Genre: Angst, Cold Weather, M/M, Sadstuck, anyways enjoy your serving of angst, only rated teen and up for cursing (and also sadness), sadness and cold mornings, sadness up ahead so brace yourself if you still want to read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:56:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/500shadesofblue/pseuds/500shadesofblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They were beautiful together, in a way, with their matching haircuts and taste in music and love for each other. They slotted together like puzzle pieces. Dan of course, fucked it all up, like he did (and does) everything else.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frosty Mornings and Belated Realizations

The creaking of the door and a whoosh of frigid air announces Dan’s arrival.

Dan stumbles into Phil’s room, tripping over a ragtag pile of laundry with a softly mumbled “Fuck!” that quickly evolves into a spectacular yawn.  He nudges the door closed behind him with numb fingers, cold toes curling on the carpeted floor.

As he shuffles across the room, he thinks of the soon to be blessed respite of sleep. His bleary vision absorbs the shadowed corners and almost picturesque stillness of the dark bedroom, taking in the only movement – the soft rising and falling of the covers on the blanket laden bed.

He halts by Phil’s bedside, almost hesitantly squinting at the Phil shaped lump under all the layers of blankets, curled inward and scrunched together to conserve heat. It is fucking cold, after all. Dan’s pretty sure that if he wasn’t practically sleep walking already his teeth would be chattering loud enough to wake the whole complex, and probably half of London besides.

 He stares at Phil’s silhouette searchingly for a moment, ignoring his own smothering, crushing lack of sleep (and the niggling voice in the back of his head telling him that something’s not quite right about this), before a yawn reminds him of the reason he’s in the bedroom in the first place. Oh yeah: To fucking sleep.

 He strips off his T-shirt and Pajama bottoms with shaking fingers until he’s left in his boxers, shuddering, standing by Phil’s bedside in the waning hours of twilight (he wasn’t obligated to change clothes today, anyways. If he doesn’t have to present himself to other humans, there’s no legitimate reason for changing out of comfy warm sweats and Phil’s oversized uni sweatshirt.)

It’s fucking late, almost morning for some. As Dan gazes at Phil through half lidded eyes, he thinks that he can barely see straight, let alone think coherently with a warm bed so close to him. He’d fall right on top of it and be asleep before he hit the mattress if that wouldn’t wake Phil up (plus he knew he would regret it in the morning when he woke up in the freezing cold if he didn’t get under the covers). Even so, through the haze of sleep, he thinks that something’s not quite right.

He’s shivering in the cold as he gently draws back the blankets in bone weary preparation for sleep, and it hits him. It hits him then, what he’s doing, what he’s unconsciously thinking in the quiet hours of the night/morning while his lack of sleep strips away his denial and his desperation tell himself that he doesn’t want this. It hits him that even in the safety of his own mind he can’t hide from the truth, that even in the safety of his own mind he’s drawn to Phil like a moth to the distant, unobtainable light of the moon.

He stands over Phil, hand still on the sheets, stupidly cold in his boxers while he stares at Phil and warmth and what could’ve/should’ve been. What he could’ve/should’ve had, if only he wasn’t too much of a coward, years and years ago (but not so many that he can use being young as an excuse, he knew better then and he knows better now). He draws back his hand as if burned, rubbing his fingers and clenching his jaw as he shuts his eyes tightly, tears pinpricking behind his eyelids like needles.

He remembers meeting Phil (something planned through thousands of texts and hundreds of Skype calls and untold amounts of nervous loving glances through shoddy camera quality while the other wasn’t looking) and loving him even more every passing day, if that was possible. The potential for connection between them that was cultivated through phone calls and 4 AM Skype calls became more tangible with each passing day together, more difficult to let dissolve into nothing. When they finally left each other after mere days together, it was with sense of shattering that foretold something trembling and beautiful in the future, and with identical stares promising more than was probably wise to promise at that age and in that state.

They were beautiful together, in a way, with their matching haircuts and taste in music and love for each other. They slotted together like puzzle pieces. Dan of course, fucked it all up, like he did (and does) everything else. Not much to say there, just the way Dan inexplicably found a way to break something beautiful and whole with bitter silences saying and public denials. It was broken by the phrase “it’s for the best, really” and silently skipped movie nights and vodka at 3:30 in the morning for the both of them, both pretending that the other didn’t exist across the fucking room. It made Dan fucking sick, to think of all he did wrong.

Dan stands over Phil, vision clouded by lack of sleep and perhaps something else (not tears, oh no, he’s too numb for that). In another universe (the one where Dan made, all those years ago, the decision that brought him to something _beautiful_. Even though, of course, there is no word that can truly encompass what Phil is to Dan, how in all the different universes Dan always feels the same despite the choices he makes, because Phil shines like the sun and even though the sun is really just another meaningless star in just another meaningless galaxy, its proximity to the earth makes it special to everything living on it. Phil shines his light on Dan, and his proximity makes him more than just a distant pinprick of light in the endless void. It makes him more than just another star in the night sky. It makes Phil the lifeblood running through Dan’s veins, makes Phil the light in the dark of Dan’s monochrome world. If Dan was a shadow then Phil was a spotlight, illuminating everything he fell upon, making it brighter and better and _more_ then it was, more than it could have ever been.) In another universe, Dan slips into Phil’s bed without remorse. In another universe, Dan kisses an “I love you” into Phil’s neck and Phil mumbles a sleepy “I love you” back, and they fall asleep together wrapped up in a haze of warmth and love and the sense of beautiful, beautiful repetition, the one where the cycle never gets old because for everyone participating, each moment is new and beautiful and shining.

But in this universe, he’s a fuckup, as per usual, and he withdraws cold and alone and defeated to his own bedroom. His cold feet step lightly on the smooth floor, as he was made out of ice or glass or something else similarly cold and fragile and solitary. He thinks that that’s all he is really – cold and presenting a finely polished surface to all who try to peer in.

 In this universe, he slips under his own cold bed sheets, closes his eyes, and waits for his sun to rise. In this universe, he sleeps and waits for the dawn that will never come.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written at two in the morning, the day before it snowed. It was quite cold and I was quite sad, so - that's where this fic came from.


End file.
